


remake me in your image

by unnohrian (cuddlebros)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Because It's Mitama, F/F, Haiku, Lesbian Sex, Monster sex, Monsters, Naga, Oral Sex, Tail Sex, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-17 16:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21057299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlebros/pseuds/unnohrian
Summary: Mitama has always known she was destined to be more; a poet, a dreamer, a championship napper. When she meets you, the army's new naga, she finally realises she was destined for one more thing.





	remake me in your image

Mitama watches as the shapeshifters train together. They didn’t often find themselves close on the battlefield, but being able to see other shifters’ strengths and weaknesses helped them recognise those same qualities in enemies. Their bestial roars and animal chuckles carry through the training ground, vibrating the walls of the surrounding buildings. It was what annoyed her the most about them. She had only just found herself falling into the land of dreams when a loud hiss had so rudely roused her.

She peeps around the corner, not sure what to expect, but it isn’t what she finds. There’s a new shifter here—at least, she assumes that you’re a shifter—a creature that moves with grace around the outskirts of the training grounds, slithering low to the ground until they strike from the shadows. You seem to catch Keaton off guard, something that she’s not sure she’s ever seen, but Velouria pounces on you as if she’d anticipated it. You end up laughing as you dodge the wolf, her fangs missing your scales and flesh by mere inches every time. When you produce a bow from the shadows, she’s unsure you’re even real—you nock and shoot arrows with lightning speed and split-second precision, laughing the entire time.

When you excuse yourself from training to sleep, only for the entire group to nod in understanding, she decides that she must know all there is to know about you.

* * *

She seeks you, but you’re difficult to find. It’s more effort than she usually puts into anything, but inside her, she knows that it’ll be worth it. Something about you calls to her in a way that her poet’s soul wants to call fate. 

Selkie had told her that you were likely curled up in one of the hollows in the castle wall, one of the little holes that were used to store weapons caches before Corrin’s army had reclaimed them. And it appears her friend was right; she finds you by following the deep, rumbling snores that come from your hidey-hole. She peeps in, and though it’s the middle of the day and bright sunlight pours down on you, you’re fast asleep. Your tail curls around you in thick rings, and you look like you’re sinking into the warmth of a nest of blankets and pillows.

Something like jealousy bubbles up inside her. It’s the fact that you seem so at peace, and that it appears as if everyone has accepted that due to your species, you’re not only  _ allowed _ to nap, but  _ encouraged to _ while you’re not training; that you look so beautiful while in sleep, but so dangerous, too. Jealousy is not the right word, but it is what she thinks of when she grabs your shoulder and shakes you awake.

You yawn, wide and loud, and crack a beady eye at the person interrupting your sleep. “Can I help you?”

“Train me.”

“...excuse me?”

“I saw you use the shadows like a veil, and now you hide in plain sight while you sleep. Teach me how to do the same.”

Your light chuckle sends her pulse racing, her cheeks blushing a light pink at the confidence of the noise. “You make me sound like some kind of rogue! Truth is, what I do isn’t so much skill as it is genetics. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“You must have  _ some _ skill,” she insists, “no one is born able to wield a bow.”

You mull her words over, pushing yourself up and out of your comfortable nest to get a better look at her. She’s beautiful, literal stars in her eyes, but that isn’t what piques your interest. She uses her words in the same way your people do, meaning laced in the inflection as much as it is in her words. It was likely she didn’t even realise—in fact, it’s clear that she has no idea she’s able to do it—but you can read between the lines: there is more to her request than her interest in your archery. Her interest was focused on  _ you _ .

Something like this doesn’t happen every day here in human territory. Perhaps, you think, it would be worth it to see what more this woman had inside of her. “What is your name, little poet?”

“How did you know—” At your raised eyebrow, she answers. “Mitama. My name is Mitama.”

“Well,  _ Mitama _ , you can train with me, but not now. Go find someplace to sleep, or come crawl in here with me, but I’m not getting up for,” you take a quick look at the sky, “at least 3 more hours.”

She nods, turns her back on you, and feels something in her soul click into place.

* * *

“Before—before you—tell me your name?”

The husky whisper of your name in her ear is a noise she’d been waiting to hear for months. It’s more than enough for Mitama to pull you down, finally, into her bed.

* * *

One of the first gifts you had bought your now-girlfriend was a small book. The cover was hand-painted with realistic clouds, and her favourite texture of scroll paper made up the leaves of the book. She had loved it from the moment she set eyes on it, and it became a handy place for her to note down poems on-the-fly. It never leaves her side.

It’s conspicuous, therefore, to find it in your nest.

You aren’t sure what to think, but you assume, perhaps, there’s something in it that she wishes you to see. So, you sacrifice your early afternoon nap to read as much of her work as possible. It’s beautiful, every word handpicked and precise, a work of mastery—but it’s  _ heartbreaking _ . You seek out Mitama as soon as you can, desperate to know the meaning of her words.

“Mitama, these poems… do you really feel this way?”

She seems unperturbed by the fact you have her poems in hand, instead sleepily asking for you to, “expand, dearest.”

You clear your throat, hoping that your voice will do justice to the words of the one who wrote them. “‘ _ Call me, my new skin  _ /  _ Replenish my tired soul _ /  _ Share with me her form, _ ’” you read, then turn the page to find another poem. “Or this one. ‘ _ True comprehension _ /  _ She reads my words with her heart _ /  _ I itch to know more _ .’ ‘ _ Skin suddenly tight _ /  _ Scales call to me, siren song _ /  _ I plead change come now _ .’ I could continue, but…”

“Oh… when you read them like that, they sound so sad.”

“That’s why I was worried, little love. These words hold a deep longing in them—there’s a word that naga’s use for it that translates poorly, but it’s… it’s as if one believes their whole station in life was a cruel mistake, that they were wronged by the stars. My heart aches when you hurt—I don’t want that pain for you. Tell me, there must be some way I can help?”

“Can you recreate me so that my form is just like yours?” Mitama’s voice holds uncharacteristic venom. You know her anger isn’t directed at you, not really, but it stings all the same. “Can you give me a body made for what my mind is made for—one that naps for nourishment, one that venerates literature as the art form it is and understands it instinctively?”

Her words force things to fall into place for you, finally, and you wonder how you could have been so oblivious. As soon as she had become your girlfriend, her mood had improved immeasurably—she had an excuse to take the naps that she needed to keep going, without her father or friends trying to stop her. She had someone to listen to the words that grew like wildflowers in her head, someone who took the time to appreciate what she created instead of wishing for her to be something else. She didn’t like you purely because you were a naga—she was drawn to you because she, too, was meant to be one.

“This… this biology is not mine. I’m judged for choosing poetry over a blade, for my body’s need to sleep when it wills so that I can keep going. I’m judged for my biology being incongruous with my mind—how much longer am I to be expected to endure it? If there was a way to become more than I am, more than this sad, human shell, then I would become it in a heartbeat.”

Your face falls in worry. “My darling, I wish you had spoken to me about this. To keep a pain like this inside, holding a poison of hurt close to you in this way…”

“It is something beyond your control. I have no desire to burden you further than I already do.”

“You are not a burden,” you tell her sternly, “and this is not beyond my control.”

Mitama has little tells that clue you in to her irritation: the clenching of her jaw, the darkening of her starry eyes. You catch sight of both. “Are you some kind of god, to change my very form?”

“Not a god,” you insist, “but a powerful naga.”

“Even the most powerful shifter doesn’t have the power to bestow their abilities on another,” she argues.

“Did you think Corrin would invite some hatchling to join her cause? I am no warrior queen, but I am respected by my people for my study of our tradition, and for being able to use our oldest magic with skill. I am not a  _ shifter _ ,” you insist. “I am a  _ naga _ . One that is very well aware that the magic of transformation is not so far from our reach than we believe. If you wish to become like me, then I can make that happen for you. I would not have you suffer from something I have the ability to correct, my love—never.”

“If you can help me become who I was supposed to be... fate truly knew what she was doing when she brought me to you, didn’t she?”

You couldn’t agree more.

* * *

It takes weeks of you feeding Mitama small amounts of your venom before the effects become noticeable—in a way you hadn’t quite anticipated.

The two of you are in one of your many nests, one that you’d made in a small cave just outside of the walls of the castle. It was the most private of your nests, and the one that you used most often for your more intimate times together.

“You smell different, darling,” Mitama almost purrs. She buries her head in your neck, like her nose is trying to become part of you.

“I take it that that’s a good thing?”

“Mmm. Really good. Are you using different soap?”

“No—oh.  _ Oh _ . Oh, Mitama. Wait—”

“Wait what?”

“Do you feel… I don’t know how to ask this politely, but, do you feel… aroused?”

“I always do when I’m around you.”

You laugh, but the gravity of the situation doesn’t leave you. “It’s not the time for sweet words, little poet. Does it feel different than normal?”

“Mmm… a little. Feel like… it smells like I  _ need  _ you. Like you need me in the same way.”

“This is wonderful news!”

“It’s always wonderful news when you take me to bed, darling.”

“Not what I meant, Mitama,” you laugh, pulling her off of you even though she tries to hold fast. “Humans cannot smell my pheromones. It means that you’re ready for the transformation, little love!”

To you, it seems as though Mitama has had to endure a torturous few months of seeing the thing she so desperately wanted, but being just out of its reach. In reality, this moment will be the culmination of her life feeling as though she were always out of step with the rest of humanity, and finally being able to be enveloped in the culture, the society that was meant to be hers.

You kiss away the tears that fall at the thin skin of her under eyes. The taste of them is thick with yearning and salty with the ache of a new life. You think you fall in love with her all over again.

“How do we get started—when can we make it happen?”

Looking around, you check that you have what you need. The cave is large enough to house two naga’s comfortably, you surmise, and your nest has always had room for more than just you. There will be space for her to change here, and space for the mating that will undoubtedly come after.

“If you wanted to, we could make it happen now.”

She’s on you in an instant—you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her move quite so quickly. Her face leaves the juncture of your neck, only so she can wend a path of nips and kisses all the way to your lips. Her kiss is demanding in a way that Mitama never is, her easy-going nature being temporarily replaced with the primal need that the change brought over her.

“Guide me, darling mine.”

You help her out of her priestesses robes first, adding them to your nest. It’s difficult with her face in yours, but you manage it. You pull her body flush with yours, relishing in the warmth of her skin against the cold of your own. Perhaps this will be the last time you feel it, but you won’t miss it. As long as the body is hers, she’ll always be warm to you.

The kiss slows down. There’s no rush, you try and tell her with your lips, ‘ _ we have all the time in the world _ ’. Her tongue tells you that she can’t wait any longer. You kiss for as long as she can stand it, until her hands are insistent on your hips, begging you to move on.

Not one to deny her anything, you help her into position, ass in the air while the rest of her bare body rests on the warmth of your nest. You’ll be sharing this nest, soon, you realise—not hosting a human in it, but truly sharing it with one of your own. It only spurs you on further.

Mitama is wet and waiting for you. You trail your fingers through the slick of her cunt, just to bring some of her sweetness to your lips. She tastes different than usual, better, perhaps, and you can tell she’s completely ready for you. With only the preparation of your foreplay, two of your fingers slip into her with ease. The sigh of relief she lets go is music to your ears; your only goal is to hear it again.

“You feel hungry down here, darling.”

“Then— _ oh— _ feed me.”

You add another finger to her, relishing the feel of her warm, tight, slick walls around you. There’s somewhere inside her, you could find it blindfolded, a place that curls her toes and forces the prettiest noises from her. You brush your fingertips against it and have to hold up her hips as she loses strength in her legs, but you don’t stop. You fuck her until your hands are soaked, your own cunt is wet and waiting, and the end of your tail is restless to be used.

“Gods, Mitama, you should feel yourself,” you groan. “I wish you could feel what I feel…”

She laughs, though it’s punctuated with a moan. “Come on, my love, I’m ready.” ‘ _ I’m impatient _ ’ is what she means, what you hear thrumming through her words. “Give me what I need.”

You’re only too happy to comply, though in your own way. The loss of your fingers leaves her empty for only a moment before your tail takes their place. It’s not as thin as normal, preparing itself for later, and the stretch is something new and enticing for the both of you. You can feel as her pussy clenches and releases, trying so hard to both pull you deeper and stretch to accommodate your new girth—it’s sexier than anything you’ve felt before.

The air is thick with your pheromones, which only get stronger as you smell her own budding scent join you. It’s as if the very soul of her has been diluted into pure scent, and you can’t get enough of it. Your tail fucks in and out of her until her fingers are gripping the fabric below her so tight they almost rip, and you know she’s close to her end. When your fingers fall to play with her clit, it’s the end of her; she comes with a drawn-out groan, clenching your tail until you’re convinced you’ll never be able to pull out of her.

Gently, you turn her over. The venom will be pulsing through her now, spurred on by the racing of her pulse and the amount that had seeped out of your scales inside her, and you know that the transformation will be complete soon. You had tired her out with her orgasm, which made it easier for her to lie still as her legs begin to fuse at the very top of her thighs, the skin of her legs quickly transforming into the deep red of new scales. 

It’s not a painful thing to go through, you know, but you hold her hand tightly in support nonetheless. The change is a strange thing that creates sensations previously unfelt, sending them through every inch of your skin, and you’re sure she appreciates the normalcy of a hand in hers. Scales begin to peek through her skin, delicate new things that start at the top of her thighs and unravel down until they cover her completely. They’d be soft beneath your fingers right now, but you can’t bring yourself to touch them until they’ve hardened. It would be cruel to add to the already overwhelming sea of sensation—besides, it’s enough just to observe her transformation before you. 

“I knew it would be red,” you whisper to yourself, smile wide as you observe her. Her tail, which had before ended at her feet, begins to stretch long, curling itself into a spiral until it’s reached its full length. A quick glance suggests it might even be a little longer than yours—she’ll like that. She’s done in mere moments, a culmination of anticipation that ends with almost anticlimactic ease. “How do you feel?”

She yawns, then mulls over your words for a moment. “Tired. Good. Hungry.” She opens one eye lazily to catch your eager gaze—though you catch sight of her signature star, her eyes open only into a slight slit. With a more perceptive gaze than you’re used to being under, she observes you, sizes you up. You’re waiting to hear one more thing from her. “You mean to ask me if I’m still needy for you—I am.”

You breathe a heavy sigh of relief. The meaning had been woven into your words in a way that she wouldn’t have noticed if her mind had rejected your venom—she understood you in the same way you understood her poetry. It couldn’t feel better.

“Are you ready to solidify our love, little poet?”

“Mmh,” she hums, “but I am ready to take the lead, darling love. For the first time, I believe that you are  _ my _ prey.”

She turns the tables on you with viper-like swiftness, catching you off guard only because it’s so different to who you know Mitama to be. But there’s something of a languid precision in the moves she makes that tells you that your girlfriend is still there, not gone, just different.

“There is a beat in my head that thrums with need; the song tells me that you are mine—no, it tells me to  _ make _ you mine.”

“I know the song well,” you admit. “Take me, little poet: satisfy yourself with me.”

She takes your invitation immediately, lowering herself to your slit, her mouth wasting no time in finding the entrance that you always consider hidden. She licks you open with a tongue that is slighter than you’re used to, and hums when she discovers you’ve been soaking wet for her this entire time. Her tongue is well-acquainted with you, but the newness of it leaves you feeling as if you have no idea what she’s about to do. When she’s tired, she works your clit until you’re hissing and cursing in minutes; when she’s in need of some more romantic inspiration, she dips her tongue into you and fucks you until the right words come to her, and you fall apart to words of undying love as well as her talented ministrations.

Today, it seems she has found her place in a mixture of both. The flicking of her tongue has your body shuddering slightly every time she does it, your tail thrashing against the blessed softness of the ground. The new length of it coils around inside you in a way that mirrors the coil of pleasure inside you, rolling and uncurling in time with your moans. It’s heavenly.

“Gods, Mitama—Mitama, you’re too good to me—”

She decides you’re too close, not yet deserving of climax, and she pulls away. Her tongue dips down to instead claim the inside of your cunt in the way you love, diving deep, trying to get her fill of the taste of you before she teases your little bud once more.

With no warning, a sensation you’d not felt in years returns: Mitama was entwining your tails together. The tip of her tail had found the other opening in the midst of all this pleasure, the cunt on the side of your tail that only opened when you mate with another naga, and you realise that you’ve really, really missed it.

The tip of her enters the cunt on your tail at the same time as a particularly well-timed lick of your clit, and it has you letting out a strangled cry.

“Huh… I’ve never heard that noise from you before, my darling.” Her tip leaves you, and you whine from the loss. “I’d rather like to hear it again.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t think you can; when she fucks into you again the noise you make is more naga than your vocal cords are used to making. It’s somewhere between a hiss and a scream, that starts in the pleasure in your stomach and only grows in intensity as it reaches your chest.

“I could write odes to that noise,” she sighs. The cold of her breath against your wetness makes you shiver, but it’s not entirely unpleasurable. “I think I will.”

The pair of you stay in that tangle of limbs and tails, her tongue on you and her tail in you, until you can’t take it anymore. Your pulse beats heavy in your clit. When she picks up her pace, her tail fucking you faster and faster, her tongue flicking faster and faster, you hang on by a thread until your climax comes, finally, with your loves tail inside you and her tongue firmly in you. Your hands thread through her hair just for something to ground you.

The first thing you feel after you’ve recovered from your climax is the feeling of her tail leaving you. It’s a loss you’d moan about if you had the energy, but mating with another naga is an intense experience that leaves you exhausted. It’s enough work to pull yourself up and out of the sweaty pile of fabric you’d been resting on to meet your darling in the warmth of the rest of your nest.

“I’m glad I met you,” she says, pulling you close to her while stifling a yawn. “You were meant to make me the best version of myself, I believe.”

“And you, me, my love. I don’t think I appreciated what I had until I met you. I’m glad… I’m glad you could teach me.”

She hums happily and intertwines your tails once more. You fall asleep almost immediately, knowing that the two of you will wake up to something new with the energy that only sated, rested nagas can have. 

Just before that land of dreams steals you away, you hear a muttering above you. “ _ Sated now in heart / And complete now in body / Love truly provides _ .”

Tomorrow sounds like a wonderful place to be.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story in this run of requests! It was for a Mitama fic in which she transforms into a naga, because the very biology/make-up of a naga is really what she was meant to have. It fits her personality so well, so why not give it to her! This was something really fun and interesting to write, and I'm really happy with how it came out. Thank you to the for this super interesting idea!
> 
> As always, comments, critiques and anything else are welcome here or at cuddlebros.tumblr.com! Requests are still open for a little while longer. You can also find a link to my ko-fi there, where I currently have a goal for being able to get Fire Emblem 3 Houses, so I can write for that, too! (No obligation to donate, just letting you know!)


End file.
